


Breathe With Me

by KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Panic Attacks, Poor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Post-Episode: s04e13 Escape From Kadavo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Anakin Skywalker, That's Not How The Force Works, Whump, Worried Anakin Skywalker, Zygerria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: “Don’t,” he yelped. “Don’t…don’t touch me. Please.”Anakin’s heart dropped to his stomach. He stared at Obi-Wan’s neck, at the burns outlining where the slave collar had been. He imagined similar wounds down his back, on his chest, knowing first-hand the kind of scarring a whip could leave.Scarring in more ways than physical.In the aftermath of Zygerria, Obi-Wan falls apart.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 71
Kudos: 664





	Breathe With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after s4e13, Escape from Kadavo.

Anakin started running to medbay the second he got the comm.

The ship’s corridors were bustling – less than an hour had gone by since they’d fled Zygerria, and each trooper he passed seemed light with relief. But Anakin felt anything but light. His pulse hitched with every strike of his boots on the ground, the blood rushing in his ears like a drone, and the Force was screaming in his mind without relent:

_Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s…_

He burst through the doors of medbay.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

Heads turned in his direction, dozens of eyes growing startled. Anakin caught sight of Rex, eyes closed on a stretcher as Kix bent over him, gloved hands stained with blood.

He tore his eyes away as a medical trooper stepped forward.

“General Kenobi collapsed on the way to medbay, sir – “

“I know, I know. Rex commed me. But where is he?!”

The trooper swallowed. “He…he’s gone, sir.”

“Gone?!”

“He left,” someone else corrected – another clone he didn’t recognize from the 212th. Anakin tried to bite back his frustration, but he didn’t bite hard enough.

“What do you mean he _left?”_

“He disappeared before we could treat him, sir. Kix sent a pair of medics after him, but…”

Anakin didn’t hear the rest. He was already bolting from the room.

He’d seen Obi-Wan less than an hour ago. He _knew_ something wasn’t right then – he bowed so stiffly to the Togrutan leader, and his eyes had just seemed… _wrong_ as they were talking to Master Plo. But then he and Rex were off to medbay, where Anakin assumed he’d be fixed up and good as new, brushing off any of Anakin’s fears with his signature catchphrase, _“I’m fine.”_

But Anakin couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, he wasn’t.

He traced Obi-Wan’s force signature easily, stopping at the door of Obi-Wan’s quarters. When it didn’t slide open to his touch, he banged on it with his metal fist.

“Open up. It’s me.”

No answer came.

Obi-Wan enjoyed his privacy – after ten years, Anakin knew too well that when his master was hurt or ill or upset, the last thing he usually wanted was company. But Anakin’s imagination was already conjuring images of Obi-Wan face down on the floor inside. Maybe he’d passed out again, or was moaning in pain with no one to hear him…

_Kriff privacy,_ Anakin decided, and sank into the Force.

He became one with the lock, feeling each wire and pulsing electrical current, his own consciousness flowing through the circuits with the protons.

_Click._

The door slid open, and Anakin bolted inside.

“Obi-Wan?”

The room was dark, and as the door slid shut behind him the light from the hall vanished. He scanned the floor. It hardly looked like Obi-Wan had even been here – they’d been off the ship for weeks, and a spare cloak and datapad on the table were the only evidence that someone had lived here at all.

But then his eyes caught a trace of light spilling out from beneath the ‘fresher door.

This time, he didn’t bother to knock.

“What the kriff are you _doing_?”

Obi-Wan stood at the sink, holding the vanity as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. The water was running, though he made no movement to use it. He stared downward into the drain, watching as the water disappeared. His tunic was filthy. Really, _all_ of him was filthy. Anakin couldn’t tell where the dirt ended and the bruising began.

“There’s a search party of medics looking for you right now,” Anakin snapped, his flesh hand still gripping the ‘fresher doorknob. “What the kark were you thinking, disappearing like that?”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said without looking up.

“Like hell. You fainted in the hall.”

“Rex must’ve exaggerated.”

“Oh, enough. You’re being ridiculous. You’re a total wreck, and we are going to medbay. End of story.”

“ _No.”_

“Obi-Wan – ”

He reached out without really knowing what he planned to do – put a steadying hand on Obi-Wan’s arm? Whack some sense into him? Give him a hug? Physically drag him to medbay with his own two hands?

But whatever the reason, he did not expect Obi-Wan to jerk away from him so hard.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he yelped. “Don’t…don’t touch me. Please.”

Anakin’s heart dropped to his stomach.

Obi-Wan had moved from the sink, nearly pressing his back against the wall to put distance between him and Anakin. The look in his eyes was unnerving. Anakin had never seen Obi-Wan look so…so scared. Had he thought Anakin was really going to hurt him? Were his injuries so bad that a hand on his shoulder would send him sinking to the floor?

He stared at Obi-Wan’s neck, at the burns outlining where the slave collar had been. The marks were red and raw, the skin nearly scorched off with electricity. He imagined similar wounds down his back, on his chest, knowing first-hand the kind of scarring a whip could leave.

Scarring in more ways than physical.

“Okay,” Anakin said gently. He tried to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, but they were fixed at his feet. “Okay. I won’t touch. But the burns…they’ve got to be treated…”

Obi-Wan shook his head sharply. “I can’t, I…I _can’t._ ”

He stepped backward again as his shoulders shuddered up and down, faster and faster, each inhale more desperate and more uneven than the last. He rubbed his hands down his face, but they trembled. He was shaking his head over and over.

And Anakin watched Obi-Wan Kenobi fall apart.

“Okay,” Anakin said softly. He started to move closer, but stopped himself. “Hey, it’s okay. Look at me.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look up. His eyes wouldn’t stay still, flickering a thousand places as if he saw something Anakin didn’t. Something more real than the ‘fresher floor, than Anakin’s soft voice and the rush of water from the faucet.

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Obi-Wan’s response came out choked, like a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

More than anything he wanted to reach out, to put a reassuring hand on Obi-Wan’s arm or at the very least, to lead him to sit down somewhere. But he couldn’t. Anakin was helpless.

Obi-Wan was helpless.

He’d just wanted to help the Togrutan people – giving away his food, squeezing hands, wrapping wounds, whispering words of strength. But each time, his kindness earned the others new suffering. He spoke up, and they whipped someone else. He fought back, and they…they…

_They killed the others. Because of me._

He was vaguely aware he was making a fool of himself. _Breathe, Kenobi…Anakin’s here…_ But he couldn’t breathe, not more than a shudder, and he felt seconds away from losing his lunch, the bile in his stomach rising in raw panic.

_No._ _Fear is the path to the dark side._

But he needed to get out. Away. To get a hold of himself, to fall apart in private and then pull himself back together before facing everyone else. But Anakin was blocking the door.

_I’m trapped, I’m trapped, please, I need to get…_

“Obi-Wan.”

Anakin. He’d been speaking in soft tones, but his voice didn’t sound real. Nothing felt real – he glanced toward the ‘fresher mirror, catching a glimpse of himself and startled at the sight.

_Who is that? That can’t be me._

The face staring back was gaunt and bruised and wild with panic.

The face of a slave.

Anakin didn’t know how long they stayed that way – Obi-Wan pressed against the wall, gasping for breath, while Anakin softly counted the seconds for each inhale and exhale. He wasn’t sure it was working. For a while, Obi-Wan didn’t even seem to hear him. But at long last they were breathing together, and Obi-Wan was looking up into his face, and the ghost of his usual demeanor flickered back to his eyes as he said:

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

Anakin almost rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the statement, but was too shaken up to even try for levity.

“You’re not.” He tried to take a deep breath, ignoring how his lungs trembled almost as much as Obi-Wan’s now. “And you don’t have to be. I…I’ve been there.” His eyes skirted away from Obi-Wan’s, instead tracing the scuffs on his boots. “When I was a kid, I always wished…I wished someone would understand. But I didn’t mean… I wish you _didn’t_ understand.”

The air seemed colder then, gravid with a million unsaid words. But there was nothing but silence, nothing but the sound of running water and their twin ragged breaths echoing against the tile floor.

Obi-Wan shuddered again, expelling the air from his lungs. “When Kix tried to put bacta on the burns, I just…” He raised a hand to his neck, as though still feeling the slave collar there. “I couldn’t breathe.”

It was an admission of vulnerability – something incredibly rare from Obi-Wan – and Anakin could only nod. His eyes traced Obi-Wan’s ripped and ruined tunics, wondering whether the dark spots on his skin were dirt or bruises.

He swallowed. “When they own you…when you know that they could do _anything_ …” His voice trailed off. “I know I can’t understand exactly what you’ve been through. But I know what it feels like to be powerless. To watch them hurt somebody you love or even somebody you don’t, and know with absolute _kriffing_ certainty that you can’t do a thing – ”

He was shocked to find his own voice breaking as the memory came to him – at eleven years old, he’d dreamed of his mother. Watto laughing as she was beaten, while Anakin could only scream.

But when he’d opened his eyes to find himself in his bedroom in the Temple, Obi-Wan was there. He was always there.

Now, it was Anakin’s turn.

He wiped a hand across his eyes, banishing the moisture there. “Can I come closer?”

Obi-Wan hesitated before he nodded. Anakin took a step, turned off the faucet, and stopped a few feet away.

“I’m not going to force you back to medbay. You don’t have to let anyone else touch you right now, okay?” Obi-Wan already looked stiffer at the thought. “But we can’t exactly leave you like this. I have some medical supplies, and I can take care of the basic stuff. But I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.” He swallowed down the last of the tightness in his throat. “I promise.”

Again, Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin moved closer slowly, watching Obi-Wan’s face for any sign of reemerging panic, but his eyes remained blank.

“We need to get your shirt off,” Anakin said, eyeing the scorched tunic. He reached forward and gently took the hem in his fingers, careful to avoid Obi-Wan’s skin. “Is this okay?”

He nodded assent, and lifted his arms as Anakin gently peeled the fabric from his skin. When he’d pulled it over his head, Anakin bit back a gasp at the sight underneath – the flesh was torn and raw, lined with whip-wounds. Anger surged through him, but he pushed it down with the bile.

He gestured toward the closed toilet seat. Obi-Wan sat down quickly, as though he’d been seconds away from collapse. Anakin knew Obi-Wan’s quarters must be stocked with medical supplies like his was, and dug through the cabinet beneath the sink in search.

When he’d found a tube of bacta and some bandages, he positioned himself behind Obi-Wan. He’d start at the top, where the collar had zapped – the skin was so raw, just looking at it was painful.

But Obi-Wan jerked away the second Anakin’s hand lightly brushed the back of his neck.

“Sorry, just…” He inhaled once, _1..2..3..4…_ then exhaled, _5…6…7_... Inhaled again. “When I can’t see you, I…”

Anakin nodded and reached for the mirror – it was flexible, and moved easily to sit in front of them. Now they could both see everything that was happening. “That better?”

Obi-Wan just nodded tersely.

He still flinched when Anakin’s hands touched his skin, but didn’t pull away. Anakin massaged the bacta gel into the wounds with greater gentleness than he’d ever done anything.

But as the minutes dragged on, Obi-Wan’s breath began to hitch. As he rubbed the gel near his throat, Anakin felt him swallow hard, felt his pulse rage against his veins. And then suddenly, he pulled out of Anakin’s reach.

“Stop.”

Anakin stood behind him, watching in the mirror as Obi-Wan’s face crumbled and he leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. His shoulders trembled.

Anakin put down the bacta. He sank slowly to the floor, sitting cross-legged beside the toilet but moving no closer to Obi-Wan.

“Try to breathe,” he said softly. “Breathe with me, like we’re meditating together. Like when I was a kid, and you’d make me center my breath with yours. Remember?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, and his breathing continued in short gasps. But Anakin waited, keeping his own breath steady, until finally Obi-Wan started to emulate the rhythm.

They started and stopped a few more times – Obi-Wan giving him permission to touch, then folding in on himself moments later – before Anakin decided this wasn’t going to work. He’d barely even finished putting gel on his neck. To really get all of Obi-Wan’s injuries, he’d need to work his way down his bare back, to his ribs, his arms…

Obi-Wan sat up again, having pushed down the panic once more.

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding for Anakin to continue.

But Anakin shook his head and put the tube of bacta down on the sink. “I know you frown on careless use of the Force…but is this better?”

He levitated the tube in the air and squeezed out a bit of gel, then gently guided it with the Force over to Obi-Wan’s bare back. Anakin didn’t touch him.

Obi-Wan nodded.

So they finished that way – Anakin cleaning his wounds from a distance, applying the gel, wrapping the worst parts in bandages. Obi-Wan didn’t flinch this time, though Anakin saw the tightness in his shoulders, the tension in his neck. He couldn’t relax yet. It would take a while, Anakin knew, before he ever really could.

But some of the anxiety had eased from his face, his features nearer to their usual softness. There was something new in his eyes, though – despair. Anakin could see it building inside. It rose like a tidal wave, casting a shadow over everything in sight, rearing to crash.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Anakin said, keeping his eyes on the bacta tube. “I know I wouldn’t want to, if it had been me. But…”

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. “There’s nothing to say,” he said quietly. “My words can’t bring them back. Can’t undo what’s been done.”

Anakin’s eyes flicked up from the spot where he’d been cleaning a cut, searching for Obi-Wan’s in the mirror.

“My entire life’s purpose,” Obi-Wan said, his voice so soft Anakin struggled to hear, “is to help people. But every time I tried…I just made everything worse.” His unsteady breathing was back, though not as bad. “What am I, if I couldn’t save them?”

Anakin’s Force-grip on the bacta tube faltered for a moment. “You’re a good person.”

“But I caused them so much suffering.”

“No, you didn’t. The slavers did that,” Anakin insisted. “You tried to help.”

“And look where it got them!” Obi-Wan shuddered, his eyes growing distant as though seeing something more than the tile floor. “A girl…I gave her my bread, and they _killed_ her for it. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old…”

Obi-Wan had lifted his hands out of his lap now, watching them tremble in their bandages. He exhaled and set them down.

“You can’t save everyone. And you can’t eradicate every evil in one fell swoop.” Anakin swallowed, feeling utterly out of place. He sounded like…well, like Obi-Wan. “You know that. I know you know that, because you taught me.”

Obi-Wan cast a glance sideways, raising one tired eyebrow – he looked unconvinced.

“But you also taught me that, although we can’t lift the whole galaxy from its grief, we can’t abandon the promise to try. And you didn’t.” He swallowed. “You never have.”

His mind flashed through a decade of memories – Obi-Wan, guiding his arms gently higher above his head while teaching him to swim. On their first off-world mission together, Obi-Wan stopping to tie the shoe of a youngling playing in the street. Obi-Wan staying up all night, never leaving the side of a grieving trooper who’d lost a brother. Undercover on Lanteeb, Obi-Wan draining his own strength to heal the dozens of sick villagers, even knowing his limited Force-healing abilities wouldn’t be enough.

No, Obi-Wan never abandoned anyone. He was a constant, as steady and sure as the stars, his heart as blindingly bright.

_And look,_ Anakin thought, his own heart twisting in empathy as he mentally traced the scars on Obi-Wan’s back. _Look what they’ve done to you._

“They want to make you think you’re helpless,” Anakin tried again. “That you can’t help everyone else, so it’s not worth even trying.”

Obi-Wan looked down, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. “I suppose they win, then,” he said, “when you start thinking they might be right.”

“So don’t let them,” Anakin insisted. “Don’t let them have that power over you. Your life is proof that it’s _always_ worth trying.”

Obi-Wan was silent as Anakin used up the last of the bacta gel, the wounds on his back fading from red to a pale pink. He brought the tube back to his hand and tossed it in the trash, studying his handiwork. Obi-Wan’s neck looked almost normal. His back and arms might scar, but not terribly. If only he could induce a healing trance – then he’d have really done well. But he wasn’t Vokara Che. He wasn’t a healer. So this would have to do.

Obi-Wan appeared to have calmed down enough to look exhausted. He sighed, and it turned into a yawn. Anakin grabbed him a change of clothes from his drawers – choosing sleepwear instead of his usual tunic and trousers. He left them with Obi-Wan in the ‘fresher, then wandered into the kitchenette to wash his hands.

When he returned, he found Obi-Wan had moved to sit on his bed, looking young and small in his nightshirt. He was staring down at his bandaged hands.

Anakin moved to sit beside him, carefully positioning himself a safe distance away.

“How do you feel?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Better, I suppose.” He flexed his hands, testing for pain. “Thank you. I know I…didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”

The words brought back the memory of Obi-Wan’s panicked eyes as he backed himself into the wall, shuddering to breathe. He’d never seen him so petrified. So vulnerable. Anakin hesitated, feeling the words perched on the tip of his tongue but unsure whether to say them.

“Have you thought about…maybe talking to the Mind Healers?”

Obi-Wan avoided his eyes. “I might be fine tomorrow.”

“And if you’re not?”

He’d expected Obi-Wan to shoot the idea down immediately. He was surprised he’d even consider it, and even more so, to speak it aloud. But in the silence, Anakin saw him turning the proposition over in his mind, until finally, he shook his head.

“We’re never on Coruscant for long enough,” he said. “And besides…I don’t really fancy going back there.”

Anakin’s looked up in surprise.

“I didn’t know you’d seen a Mind Healer before.”

Obi-Wan shifted his weight on the bed, pulling himself to lean against the headboard. He nodded.

“After…after Qui-Gon.”

“Panic attacks?”

Obi-Wan nodded again. “Among other things.”

“You never told me.”

“You were ten, Anakin. And you had enough to worry about, without adding the fear that your Master was going insane.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that.”

He scoffed. “You’d have been about the only one.”

Anakin pulled his legs up onto the bed too, facing Obi-Wan but leaving the space between them. He tried to imagine Obi-Wan back then – 25, barely older than Anakin was now. Having to watch the person he loved most in the world die before his eyes, probably blaming himself for it, and all the while having a 9-year-old to raise. Anakin had known, then, that Obi-Wan wasn’t totally alright – even someone without Jedi training could’ve told him that. But clearly he hadn’t known the full extent of it.

“You’re not crazy, if that’s what you think. You went through something awful. A lot of somethings, actually,” Anakin said gently. “And somehow, you’re still managing to handle it well.”

Now Obi-Wan laughed softly. “I don’t know if I’d call hitting Kix and running from medbay ‘handling it well.’”

Anakin nearly choked on air. “Wait, back up. You hit Kix?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, his face reddening a bit as the side of his mouth quirked up. “I assumed he told you that. He was getting an ice pack for his cheek when I made a run for it.”

Anakin couldn’t help it – he laughed out loud. He knew it wasn’t funny, not really. Obi-Wan had reacted in panic, probably, when Kix tried to touch him. But still…Obi-Wan Kenobi, swinging a fist at _anyone_ …

But then Obi-Wan was laughing too, softly at first, and then harder. And Anakin couldn’t stop himself from joining in, falling backward onto the bed with disbelief as laughter overtook both of them.

“I’ve never seen him look so surprised,” Obi-Wan said between guffaws. “I’ve got to apologize.” He wiped a hand across his mouth as if trying to flatten the smile. “Kark, this isn’t funny. I hit him, and I’m laughing about it. Maybe I _am_ crazy.”

Anakin sat up, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Maybe we both are.”

Their laughter faded, becoming something soft and pensive as the silence returned. Darkness still hovered in Obi-Wan’s eyes. It lingered there with matching dark circles, a souvenir from a month of trauma and little sleep. Anakin imagined him and Rex down in the mines. He was glad they were together – he couldn’t imagine having dealt with Watto without his mother – but he knew that made things harder, too. Caring about someone could be used against you. People became leverage. He hoped Obi-Wan hadn’t found that out the hard way.

The next time he glanced over, Obi-Wan had sunk down into the pillows, folding his bandaged hands across his chest. His stomach rose and fell slowly, a stark contrast to the ragged breaths he’d been taking just a short while before. His eyes were closed, though Anakin knew he wasn’t asleep. 

“You know,” Anakin said softly, “There’s other options besides the Mind Healers. Some of the medics are trained in counseling.”

“I know.”

His eyes flickered up to meet Anakin’s, and he could instantly read the uncertainty there. The fear.

Anakin send a pulse of reassurance through the Force. “Think about it?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, then nodded. He closed his eyes again.

Anakin could sense him on the edge of sleep, though his mind wasn’t relaxed. Careful not to shake the bed too much, Anakin stood up. He wasn’t sure if it would work without touching his head, but tried gently easing a sleep suggestion into Obi-Wan’s mind from a distance.

Obi-Wan yawned, muttering something that vaguely sounded like “thanks.”

Anakin just nodded. He stared at Obi-Wan, at the peace in his face. Peace that likely hadn’t been there in a long time.

Yawning himself, Anakin pulled off his boots and utility belt. He stuck his lightsaber on the nightstand beside Obi-Wan’s, and did his best to get comfortable on the floor. He wasn’t about to leave Obi-Wan here alone tonight. But he’d give him his space.

Sinking his cheek into the carpet, Anakin let it wash over him – the sound of Obi-Wan’s breathing, steady and constant, rolling like waves. It was a rhythm he had memorized. He could find Obi-Wan blindfolded. In total darkness, searching by his breath alone, he’d find him every time.

“Goodnight, Master,” he whispered.

And in the tide of the inhales and exhales, in their intertwined air, sleep carried them both to oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m normally an agonizingly slow writer, but somehow I banged this out in a single day yesterday. But after working on [ Roots ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543652/chapters/59264785) for so long, I guess it was just refreshing to hop into a new plot! However I usually reread and revise every time I sit down to work on a fic, so since I did it in one sitting…RIP the writing process, I guess. Hopefully you can’t tell too much lol.
> 
> Anyway – thank you for reading, and I appreciate your comments!


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